Beyond the treeless sand-brown hills—
new double-story houses, driveways
holding vans and cars, a thick man
working on his lawn, a pit bull snarling
by the gate.
Don’t tell me that, go deeper.
Molten, semi-molten magma, slamming
at the underside of earth to find escape,
and, trapped in ringwoodite, a sea
that never will light up in sun
or trace a path of moonlight on its skin.
No, no—go deeper,
down below the mantle
and the outer core,
find me something burning like a star.